


Basic Average Girl

by okinawasobas



Category: Soul Eater
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Gen, kim possible au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-01
Updated: 2017-03-01
Packaged: 2018-09-27 17:54:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10037222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/okinawasobas/pseuds/okinawasobas
Summary: Maka Albarn is your basic average girl, here to save the world. Soul Evans is kind of a nerd, but he’s got the best friend a guy could ask for and he’s seen more of the world than pretty much anyone else in their year. Senior year homecoming is approaching, and he’s kind of ready to ask Maka to be his date. Like, a date date. But Dr. Stein and his ridiculous plans keep getting in the way. Can he help Maka save the world again, and manage to convince her that he really, really likes her?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been forever in the making, and because I thrive on compliments and positivity I'm gonna post the first chapter even though I haven't finished the next one lmao. Huge thanks to makapedia on tumblr for beta'ing this for me!

**BASIC AVERAGE GIRL**

**CHAPTER ONE:** _ DETENTION, STOPPABLE! _

 

* * *

 

Blair always meows at the most inopportune times, Soul thinks bitterly as Mr. Barrett gives him his 3rd detention this week.

“You know there’s no animals allowed in my classroom Evans,” the teacher says, handing Soul the pink slip denoting his punishment for the afternoon. Soul groans in response.

“I’ve told you before, she tears up all my stuff at home if I leave her and my parents get mad.” He looks down at the tiny black cat, whose head sticks out of his pocket. “She gets jealous without me.”

“Then find a solution Evans. I can’t make an exception to the rules for you, that’s not the kind of man I am. See you in detention.” Mr. Barrett stalks off, braids swinging, and Soul groans again.

“Not cool,” he mutters, reaching down to withdraw the cat. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

Blair responds by leaping to his shoulder, rubbing her head against his neck, and purring. Soul rolls his eyes, but leaves the cat where she is.

A dwarf cat, Blair was rescued a few years ago, when he and Maka were investigating a break in at the humane shelter two towns over. The cat, a kitten then, mewed pitifully from a cage away from the other pets. After being informed by the receptionist that her disability made her unwanted (and thus, she was on her way to be put down), Soul immediately adopted her, an action that caused Maka to call him “a big softie” for weeks.

A softie he may be, but fast forward three years, and here he is with a tiny black cat perched on his shoulder, walking down the halls of Death City high school with cat hair all over his clothes, clutching his 3rd detention slip of the week.  _ Damn it, _ Blair.

He approaches Maka’s locker, landing on the doors adjacent with a resounding  _ clang _ . Maka doesn’t even flinch, just continues depositing her books.

“Got my third detention,” he says, slouching on the lockers. Blair mews happily at Maka, who offers her a scratch behind the ears before turning her attention to Soul.

“Another one?” She scoffs. “What’d you do  _ this _ time?”

“Not my fault. Hers,” he says, gesturing at the cat.

Blair licks her paw. Maka giggles.

“You could always leave her in your locker, you know.”

“What, and have her shit on all my homework?”

“Not like there’s any in there,” Maka retorts, closing the door to her own locker. “Anyway, aren’t we supposed to do Bueno Nacho today? It’s Thursday and all.”

Soul shrugs. “I’ll be out by five, prolly.”

“Hope so.” Maka tugs him by the sleeve, leading them towards their only shared class of the day. “We had to skip last week, when we stopped those guys from robbing the Louvre. Kinda missed it.” She nudges him lightly, grinning.

“Nerd,” he smiles in response.

“Anyway, I’ll be over at five, try not to be late yeah?”

“Yeah, no promises.” He pulls Blair from his shoulder, scratching behind her ears before stuffing her in the side pocket of his burgundy cargo pants. “S’not cool to be on time for everything you know.”

They bicker comfortably until they reach their classroom, sliding into seats in the back row, and Maka pelts bits of eraser at him when he starts snoring too loudly. This is their friendship, and Soul is content.

 

* * *

Detention, Soul believes, is the actual most mind-numbing event to be developed in the course of human history. He could avoid it easily, Maka constantly reminds him, but that would require him to stop sneaking off campus for fast food (and endure  _ mystery meat, _ yeah right), leaving Blair in his locker (god forbid) or at home (even worse), and Soul’s not exactly prepared to do these things. His attendance is almost 100%, he hasn’t brought weed on campus once since the crackdown sophomore year, and it’s hard to get bad grades when your best friend is Maka ‘Bookworm Extraordinaire’ Albarn, so he’s not sure why he’s had more detentions than fucking Blackstar.

Then again, didn’t Blackstar graduate high school in like the eighth grade?

Details. Doesn’t matter now, not when he’s stuck looking at Mr. Barratt’s mug (which, incidentally,  _ raised  _ Blackstar from age four or so) and feeling the whizz of paper airplanes flying around his head. If he could just take a nap to drown out all of this, it would be fine, but being pelted with Maka’s spare eraser bits is  _ heavenly _ compared to the consequences of falling asleep in Sid Barrett’s detention room. Consequences including pushups, laps, or whatever other physical activity Barrett’s third circle of hell involves today. Soul Does Not Do Exercise, and  _ no, _ he does not count missions with Maka as  _ exercise. _

Blair’s with Maka; sensible as ever, she’d insisted that Blair go home with her, rather than get caught in detention with Soul. He never would’ve thought of that, of course. Not for the first time, he’s grateful for that day back in middle school when the pigtailed eleven-year-old sat next to him on the wall outside the school and offered him lunch.

He could be working on homework, there’s five problems due in Algebra tomorrow and an essay due at the end of the week, but instead he picks at his fingernails and stares at the walls, avoiding eye contact with Barrett and listening to the ticking of the clock. If it were Maka, she would’ve been done with the algebra and started the essay by now.

If it were Maka, she wouldn’t be in detention in the first place, but that’s beside the point.

The clock ticks loudly, incessantly, and Soul resists the urge to look at it  _ again _ . Last time he checked, seven minutes had passed since the time before, and he almost groaned out loud before he remembered that Barrett’s got the hearing of a  _ bat _ and won’t tolerate noise in his detention because that’s  _ not the kind of man he is _ . Soul can practically hear him rattle off this phrase before giving him another detention for tomorrow, and he can’t take home another “Soul got too many goddamn detentions” slip to his parents. Not only is it  _ not cool _ , but it also guarantees that he gets shipped straight off to private school, forced to wear a tie to all his classes, and -- most importantly -- never sees Maka again.

She would tell him he’s overthinking it, because most people don’t go from “another detention” to “never see best friend again” in twenty seconds flat, but Soul isn’t  _ most people  _ and overthinking it is practically his middle name.

He spends a few minutes fidgeting with his collar and tapping a couple fingers absentmindedly on his knee before risking a look at the clock again. Six minutes have passed, and this time he  _ does  _ let a groan escape before clapping a hand over his mouth and sinking into his seat as low as he can.

“Who said that?” Barrett barks. “I can make this detention a lot longer for you!”

Soul keeps his mouth shut and his eyes determindedly toward the front, but at least four different people in this detention point their fingers straight at him, and he bites his tongue to keep from groaning again.

“Evans, I hate to do this, but letting you get away with misbehavior isn’t the kind of man I am. Thirty extra minutes detention!”

_ Not cool, _ he thinks, pulling his best “I’m gonna fuckin’ fight all of you in the parking lot” face on the rest of the class. Not cool at  _ all _ .

 

* * *

 

Soul slides into the usual seat at Bueno Nacho 20 minutes late, shrugs a sheepish apology, and takes a huge bite out of the naco Maka had ordered for him earlier.

“It’fh cold,” he says, mouth full.

“I ordered it 20 minutes ago,” she snaps back.

Blair leaps onto the table, taking bites of the food Soul drips out of his naco onto the platter. Black fur becomes sticky with orange cheese quickly; Soul, however, manages to keep himself perfectly clean, a feat Maka finds nearly miraculous, as even  _ her _ clothes can’t resist the lure of cheap cheese sauce and processed meat-like product.

“Where were you anyway?” Maka asks. 

Soul shrugs. “Barrett kept me an extra 30 minutes.”

“What’d you do, look at the clock and groan again?”

Soul can feel his cheeks turning red, and stuffs a bite of naco into his mouth instead of replying. She clicks her tongue.

“Thought so. You know he’s just gonna keep you in longer, so why do you keep looking at the clock?”

“Subject change,” he says flatly. She shrugs.

“I think Liz and Kilik are back together again,” she says, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“How much you wanna bet they break up three days before homecoming?” he retorts.

“Loser buys food for a month.”

“You’re on.”

A loud, rhythmic beeping emits from Maka’s pocket, and Soul leans forward, smirking.

“I think the Makamunicator’s beeping.”

Maka shoots a dark glare at Soul. “I  _ told _ you to stop calling it that!”

Soul grins cheekily as she rolls her eyes and pulls the communication device out of her pocket. Deep burgundy and covered primarily in a touchscreen, Blackstar managed to pull Skype’s video technology and some sort of satellite connection to make sure the communicator works anywhere they go. Maka was delighted with this -- at least until Blackstar had unveiled the name. Soul doesn’t even think it’s all that funny - kind of a stupid pun, really - but the whole thing irked Maka so much that he’s sure to work it into conversation as often as possible.

“Sitch,” she says, in patented Maka Albarn slang. Soul pokes his head over Maka’s shoulder to view the screen.

“Hit at the website. Possible break in at some guy’s science lab.”

Bright turquoise hair sticks out from underneath a white beanie on Blackstar’s head. As usual, he’s surrounded by several computers, towers of energy drinks, and a few empty Bueno Nacho bags. He props his feet up on the desk, far too casual for the break in news he’s delivering.

“Okay, where at?” Maka asks, ever practical.

“Somewhere mid-Peruvian Amazon. The old dude sent us a map, I’ll pull it up on the screen when you’re close.”

“Question,” Soul interjects. “But how the hell are we gonna get to the Peruvian Amazon tonight?”

Blackstar grins at this. “You underestimate me, mortal.”

Twenty minutes later, the pair are boarding a private plane at the Death City Airport, and Soul wonders why he doubts Blackstar so often. He says as much, and Maka rolls her eyes again, but smiles.

“Thanks for the lift, Mr. Buttataki,” she says.

“Of course, after you saved me and my ex-girlfriend from that landslide back last winter it’s the least I could do!”

“It’s no big,” she says modestly. “Marie’s like a mother to me, you know I’d do anything for her.”

“How is she anyway?” he asks, and there’s a hint of desperation in his voice. Soul slouches in his seat to hide his quiet laughter.

“She’s good.” Maka kicks Soul in the shin. “She just got a promotion at work, actually.”

“Good, good,” Mr. Buttataki says wistfully. Soul rubs his shin and looks woundedly at Maka, who ignores him.

"I'll be sure to give her your best."

"Please do!"

 

* * *

 

“Here’s your stop kids,” the pilot says later, saluting the two. Soul stands up, stretches, and follows Maka to where she’s putting a backpack on over her black crop top.

“Um, Maka?”

“Yes?”

“We’re not landing.”

“Of course not,” she says, handing him a backpack and helmut of his own. “There aren’t any airports in the remote parts of the Peruvian Amazon. Make sure you strap Blair into the front pocket of this backpack.”

Soul scowls. “I hate skydiving.”

“I know. Come on, we’re gonna miss our window of opportunity.”

She grabs him tightly by the hand and pulls him to the opening door of the airplane. The air from outside whooshes around him, and he feels his hands start to shake. Maka feels it too, and squeezes his hand gently.

“Just remember to pull your ‘chute when I say so!” she yells comfortingly, pulling goggles over her eyes with her left hand. “Are you ready?”

_ “No,” _ he bellows.

“Great! On the count of three! One, two…”

She drags him to the edge of the plane where they jump off together, and Soul can’t help it; he screams. Loudly. It doesn’t matter how many times a month he goes skydiving into some remote location with his teen hero best friend, it doesn’t get any easier. Even Blair pokes her head out of her pocket to feel the air around her fur, and Maka does some loop-de-loops in midair out of sheer joy.

Not Soul. Soul just screams.

She pulls her parachute cord when they hit what she judges as the right altitude, and he follows suit. He stops screaming here, as his throat is beginning to grow sore, and grips the sides of his parachute as tightly as he can, squeezing his eyes shut until he absolutely has to open them. It’s not that he’s afraid of heights so much as  _ falling _ ¸ and he really doesn’t understand why people do this shit for fun.

He thinks that, then peeks out one eye to see Maka floating back to earth with the most content grin on her face. Case in point.

They  _ finally _ land, in a tiny clearing near what he assumes is the lab, and discard their gear under a tree. Maka pulls her communicator back out and checks the coordinates Blackstar sent her.

“We should be close,” she murmurs. “Just a few hundred yards’ northwest.”

“Right, like I have the context to know where northwest is,” Soul quips. Maka rolls her eyes.

“That’s why I have the map, dumbass.”

“What, because you’re the only one here who can read a map?”

“No,” she replies. “I’m the only one here who can read a  _ compass _ .”

Soul pauses for a second, blinking at his best friend, who grins sweetly before marching toward the forest. He scowls, and follows close behind her.

“What, like it’s hard?”

“I’d let you try, Elle Woods, but we’re on a  _ time crunch _ , and I don’t need you getting us lost.”

“Hey fuck off, that was only one time, and I wasn’t reading a compass!”

He can practically hear Maka roll her eyes. “No, it was a  _ map _ . You got us lost and we had a  _ map _ , and Kid and his dad managed to get away with like, ten priceless artifacts from the archaeology museum in Antakya!”

“Like anything super valuable goes through Turkey,” he says, more to irritate her than out of any factual claim. “No one even knows where it  _ is _ .”

She stops dead in her tracks, spins around to face Soul, and narrows her eyes.

“Turkey is literally one of the most culturally and historically rich countries in the  _ world _ .” She’s frowning now, cheeks red, standing on her toes to meet his eyes, and he nearly takes a step closer just to see how she would react. The thought gives him pause, and instead he stares her down, in the middle of the Peruvian rainforest, and isn’t sure what the turning in his stomach is all about.

She seems to notice something weird about the situation, and shrinks back from him before digging the communicator back from her pocket. “We’re, uh, close,” she says. “To the lab.”

“Right.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “Lead on.”

 

* * *

The lab itself is covered in moss and surrounded by trees, and it hardly looks like a science lab at all from the outside. Soul says this out loud, and she nudges him in the stomach with her elbow.

“Dr. Baker is one of the most noted researchers in the world,” she says quietly. “No one even knows  _ what  _ he researches, just that it’s all he does.”

“So we’re here to rescue something from some thieves we don’t know from a scientist we’ve never heard of, and we don’t even know what we’re rescuing?”

“Basically.”

Soul shrugs. “We’ve faced worse odds,” and Blair mews as if in agreement.

The door to the lab is open when they approach it, and the two poke their heads inside to look around. The inside looks much more scientific than the outside, chrome dressers and glowing vials of alien substance on the countertops. He’s almost distracted by a particularly shiny beaker, but then he hears bickering coming from somewhere deeper into the lab. He looks down at Maka, who nods decisively, and sneaks inside.

“…..not even sure he stores it at this lab,” a woman’s voice says irritatedly. “And you dragged my ass all the way out here for a maybe.”

“It was a  _ strong _ maybe,” another voice replies. “And we still aren’t sure it’s  _ not _ here. Maybe we make one more pass around the room.”

“Or maybe you stop right where you are so I don’t have to hurt you.” Maka steps out from the shadows the two are hiding in, and Soul can’t get over how heroic his best friend sounds, no matter how many missions they have been on.

“You? Hurt us?” The woman says before bursting into laughter. “I’m sorry, but you’re such a  _ little _ thing.”

Soul follows suit, stepping behind Maka and taking a first look at their opponents. Blair jumps out of his side pocket and races under a nearby table, her usual strategy upon impending battle. The woman has blonde hair, yellow eyes, and tattoos of arrows spiraling up her arms. The man next to her is even taller, with gray hair and stitches scarring his arms and face. They look like something out of a cartoon, he thinks, but he’s sure they can’t be worse than anyone else they’ve fought recently.

“Strong enough to kick your ass,” he says. “And if she doesn’t, you’ll have me to answer to.”

“What, a couple of teenagers?” The woman laughs again. “Clearly you don’t know who we are.”

“And clearly  _ you _ don’t know who  _ we _ are.” Maka clenches her fists. “I warned you, stop what you’re doing and give it up.”

“Go home, sweetheart,” the woman says. “You’re outmatched.”

Black lightning crackles around her arms and fists, and the woman speeds straight toward Maka, barely missing her as Maka backflips out of the way. “That’s new,” she mutters, dodging blows from the woman.

“Like it?” the woman grins. “Face it, you’re done.”

“Doubt it.” Maka lands a kick to the woman’s chest, knocking her backwards a few inches. Soul, caught up in watching the fight take place, nearly gets hit in the head himself by the other guy, but manages to dodge just in time.

“Soul, pay attention!” Maka yells, and Soul wonders how the hell she’s managed to keep from getting hit by this crazy  _ black lightning coming from her fists _ woman and still see what he’s doing across the room.

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, ducking past the tall man in front of him. “Watch yourself.”

“The name’s Medusa,” the blonde woman says, using her hands to cut through a filing cabinet Maka’s just knocked over. “And that’s Dr. Stein. Pleasure to meet you, Miss Albarn.”

“Can’t say the sentiment’s reciprocated,” Maka says, frowning and dodging a kick from Medusa. “What are you two after, anyway?”

“Top secret.” The woman grins. “Wish I could tell you more.”

Soul pushes a bookcase down across the room and Stein skids to a halt to dodge it. “Somehow I doubt that,” he retorts, and the woman laughs.

“Focus on your own fight, the doctor’s smarter than he looks,” Medusa warns lightly, exchanging blows with Maka. Soul scowls and faces Stein, who is staring at the scattered books and papers from the fallen bookcase with a look of glee.

“Medusa, I think I’ve found it,” he says, grinning.

Soul lunges forward at this, tackling Stein to the ground, and reaches for the piece of paper clutched in Stein’s right hand. The man shoves Soul off him, kicking him in the stomach for good measure, and waves at Medusa.

“Let’s  _ go, _ ” he yells. Maka dodges one last punch from her own opponent, and Medusa follows Stein out the front door.

Maka hesitates briefly before rushing toward Soul to help him up. Blair races out from her hiding place and mews at him until he picks her up. She curls up on his shoulder and licks his neck, tail twitching. Soul glances down at Maka, who winces slightly, and puts an arm around her shoulders.

“They got away,” she says weakly, putting her own arm around his waist.

“We’ll get ‘em next time.”

Maka nods slightly. “She had  _ lightning _ coming from her hands.”

Soul doesn’t respond to this, not yet, and instead gestures toward the door. “Should we start heading back?”

“Oh yeah,” she replies shakily. “Blackstar should have a ride for us any minute now.”

The pair head outside, arms still clutched around each other, and Soul stays quiet. Maka doesn’t lose missions very often, and faces threat of real injury even less so. He’ll offer words of comfort later, when they’re on their way home and she’s ready to hear them. Until then, he squeezes her shoulder tightly and gives distraction the best way he knows how.

“I can’t believe you used the word ‘reciprocated’ in the middle of a fight with a literal comic book villain,” he teases, glancing at his best friend with a grin. She rolls her eyes.

“Shut up, it was the first word I could think of.”

“Nerd,” he says affectionately. She sticks her tongue out at him, ponytail swinging, and he’s confident that they’re gonna be okay.


End file.
